


Over The Edge

by RandomWordsAndStormyDays



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Choking, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Spanking, With no Beta, and more smut, at the very end, because even though i'm literally posting this on the interenet, is terrifying, it's just, that i have personally written, the idea of someone reading a smut scene, this is basically Deacon and Danse hate fucking, with some
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24060853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomWordsAndStormyDays/pseuds/RandomWordsAndStormyDays
Summary: On a mission to rescue Nora, Danse and Deacon find themselves taking shelter from a radstorm. The forced proximity has them bickering, then fighting, then fucking.Tw: this is basically just them hate-fucking with some feelings at the end.
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Deacon (Fallout)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62





	Over The Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Go easy on me, guys, this is only my third attempt at writing a sex scene.

“Shut up, Deacon.” Danse says, feeling irritation and annoyance pound inside of him. His demand is ignored as Deacon continues to ramble, talking as if his voice isn’t going to give away their position to any enemy in the immediate vicinity.

Him and the Railroad agent have been traveling for hours already, heading to rescue Nora. Sometime in the night she had taken off, to go rescue some settler that had been taken by Gunners. When she hadn’t returned by the morning Preston had grown worried. Then, midday, a letter had arrived. From Gunner Commander Reves, one of the most highly feared and regarded Gunners left in the Commonwealth. Well known for his violent and barbaric means of accomplishing his goals.

Attached to the letter was a polaroid of Nora, tied to a chair, bloody and beaten. The letter only said one thing: come and get her.

Without being asked Danse had volunteered to go help her, no questions, becasue he owed Nora his life. Why the spy had also volunteered, not bothering to listen to Danse’s protest, is not something he knows. And the fact that he’s being irritating and annoying on what the ex-Paladin considers to be one of the most important missions of his life, has him grinding his teeth.

The only thing keeping him from shooting the other man is the look he knows Paladin Adams would give him if she knew what had happened to her friend. So, he’s at least trying to impart tactics into their mission, by getting the spy to shut up.

“Agent Deacon, your talking is likely to give away our position. In case you’ve forgotten, this is a rescue mission, and we can’t rescue anyone if you get us killed.”

“Relax, Danse, we’re not going to run into anything, not even a radroach.”

Danse sighs heavily and focuses on the road ahead of him. If he can’t get him to stop rambling, maybe he can at least focus the conversation to less grating topics than, what had he been blabbering about, a pet deathclaw? “Please explain to me how you can be so sure we are in no danger.”

Literally skipping ahead, Deacon smiles and tilts his head to look at him. “Because we’re the only idiots dumb enough to be outside during a radstorm.”

“Ridiculous, the sky is perfectly clear-” a rumbling of thunder cuts him off and Danse twists to look at the sky behind him. Green clouds, moving very quickly, are pushing towards their position. Without his standard power armor, he hadn’t even noticed the slight increase in radiation that usually persisted before a storm. How had the spy? Not important in the current moment, but he makes a mental note to ask him about it later. For now, “we need to get inside, we’ll be no use to Nora if we’re too sick to fight.”

“I know a place, just up ahead.”

Nodding once, Danse follows behind the Railroad agent, eager to get into cover before the rain starts up. To his annoyance, the urgency does not keep Deacon from talking. He picks up his inane chatter right from where he left off. Doesn’t even bother to be quiet as he clears the lower level of a building, merely changes topics to mouth off at the few ferals, which have become agitated by the increase in radiation.

There’s a slight break as Deacon sorts through what Danse is sure is a hundred different codes in his head, until finally finding the one that allows him access to the elevator terminal.

“And we’re in, after you my friend.”

Danse has just enough patience about him to stop the snarled comment he wants to make. Instead, he steps into the elevator and waits for Deacon to press the button that will take him to the basement. There’s no silence as the two make their way into the basement, nor is there any as they lay out their supplies and bunker down for the long haul.

To block out the spy, Danse thinks about their mission. The radstorm will certainly delay them for a few hours, knocking them off track. This worries him. The Gunner Commander has a reputation for a reason, and the idea that Nora, his friend, the woman who saved his life, might be hurt or seriously injured because of the delay has him feeling on edge.

Or maybe he was already on edge by being forced to travel with a man like Deacon. A spy, shrouded in mystery and deceit. He had never liked liars, too obsessed with their own image of the world to make for good Soldiers or good friends, and yet, this man next to him has made an entire career out of the skill. And has also somehow managed to make Nora like him, enough to keep him around, to share in jokes, in missions, in friendship.

It’s all adding up to be too much. It’s only been a few weeks since his world came crashing down, and while most had taken to ignoring his identity, or trying to comfort him with empty words, Deacon poked and prodded, made comments that were just on the verge on insults, like he was trying to get under Danse’ skin. Now he’s being forced into close proximity with one of the causes of his insecurities and anger, while also being unable to help the one person left in the world who has openly and honestly accepted him as him. The image of Nora, beaten and bloody, passes through his mind, just in time for Deacon to start singing show tunes.

“Would you just shut the hell up for once in your miserable life?” The venom that spills out beside the words is like nothing he’s ever felt before. What is it about this man that makes him so angry? Why does it take almost nothing for Deacon to tip him over the knife’s edge?

Deacon stops his incessant talking, looks over at him. There’s a challenge written on his face, but Danse detects no anger. “Make me, tincan.”

It’s the nickname that sends him spiraling, that has him stepping forward, gripping Deacon’s shirt in a tight fist and slamming the other man against the wall. Before everything with the vault dweller happened, when Deacon was merely an irritating companion of then-Knight Adam’s, the nickname was annoying, but not enough to actually piss him off.

Now though? Now that he’s filled with the knowledge that he isn’t who he thought he was, that he’s not flesh and blood, that he’s likely made of the very metal that Deacon so casually torments him with? Now it fills him with hate. Not at Deacon, not at the name, but at himself, at the Brotherhood, at Elder Maxon. All it does is remind him that he shouldn’t be alive, that every day he spends walking the Earth is him spitting in the face of everything he’s ever believed in.

It leaves him feeling weak, vulnerable, makes him itch to hurt someone, and if not himself, then who?

Deacon’s hands fly up to grip at his fist, but they don’t push him away, and the man doesn’t struggle to break free. If anything, he seems to sag under the weight, leaning into it. Danse relaxes, goes to pull back, maybe apologize - it’s not Deacon’s fault he’s something he hates, but then the spy starts to blabber again, unperturbed by the angry ex-Paladin a breath away from beating in his face.

“Okay, so, note to self: don’t call Danse by his least favorite nickname. Seems to upset him, for whatever reason.” Danse curls his fingers a little tighter, but doesn’t speak, can’t seem to think of something to say to make Deacon just  _ shut up _ . “But seriously, this isn’t helping us find Delta, so as much as I’m sure you’d like to use me to get out all your pent up aggression-”

Danse doesn’t think, just moves the hand not fisted in Deacon’s shirt up to the Railroad agent’s neck. Squeezes tighter than he means to, and then Deacon’s voice squeaks, he drops his hands to his sides, and he goes silent. The pressure isn’t enough to cut off oxygen, but the spy’s face goes red, tinting his cheeks behind the dumb sunglasses he wears and sliding up to turn his ears crimson. “I thought I told you to stop talking.”

Deacon opens his mouth, to say who knows what, and Danse tightens his grip again, digging his fingers into the soft skin of his traveling companion’s neck, leans into the grip so his entire body is pressing Deacon’s against the wall. “Your stories and anecdotes are doing nothing to help find Nora. If you can’t manage to be quiet I will be forced to continue on without you. Do I make myself clear?”

Deacon nods, actually staying quiet for once. Danse wonders if maybe he’s actually hurting the man- he’s not usually so compliant and his heart rate has ticked up, pulse pounding beneath his fingers- so Danse moves to pull back, feeling guilty at his lack of control. As he pulls backwards his thigh drags across Deacon’s body, bumping against something that’s decidedly not a leg. At the same time Deacon chokes out a whine, half broken off by the hand still wrapped around his throat.

Time seems to slow as Danse tries to understand exactly what is going on. He’s frozen, fingers still putting pressure on Deacon’s neck, only now he's no longer pressed up against the man and one quick glance down tells him that no, what he felt was not a well hidden gun, and Deacon is in fact hard, hands tightened into fists at his sides, breath coming out heavy, and blush spreading to dip below the collar of his shirt.

It’s clear and obvious that Danse’s proximity, or possibly his aggression and violence, has turned Deacon on.

As that realization slams into him, Danse rips his hand back, stumbling a bit as he pulls away. Deacon sags into the wall and draws in a deep breath- to steady himself or to fight off the arousal coursing through his veins?

Danse can’t seem to find the words to speak, can’t even begin to think of a way to address the situation. For once, Deacon is actually silent. The one time Danse wants him to talk - to lie, to joke, to defuse the awkward tension rising up in the room, choking him like smoke - the spy says nothing. And with his eyes hidden, Danse can’t even tell where he’s looking. At him? At the ground? Or are his eyes closed, hiding behind two levels of protection to keep him safe from shame or embarrassment?

He takes in the sight before him: Deacon, face and neck flushed, breath heavy, hands balled up, aroused and embarrassed, and finds himself itching to close the distance he put between them. To close his hand back around Deacon’s neck, pull him up into a searing kiss that keeps him quiet and lets him work out the aggression and anger still simmering beneath his skin. To finally get something real from the man who hides under layers and layers of fake personalities.

He’d be lying if he said he’d never found the spy to be attractive, while he might be a little… stuck up, he’s not blind, and Deacon isn’t ugly. The only thing keeping him from acting on his attraction had always been the man’s inability to be serious, to be honest and open. Not to mention that he’s a member of the Railroad, a sworn enemy, a man he could never learn to trust.

But the current situation has changed some things. His fingers twitch at his side, caught in a moment of indecision. He’s on a different kind of knife’s edge now, and it has him saying something he never thought he would.

“Was it the fact that I could have killed you that turned you on? Or just my proximity?”

Deacon’s head snaps up at his questions, and Danse knows he’s calculating an answer, looking to deflect or make a joke. “Don’t know what you mean, that was clearly just my gun.” His voice is a little strangled, and Danse thinks that if he wasn’t in the way of the exit, Deacon might have fled by now.

Another lie, another log in the fire burning inside Danse's chest. He’s just… so angry, and Deacon is much too good at pushing his buttons. This time when he steps forward, it’s intentional. Purposefully, he lifts his arms to bracket Deacon between them, finds pleasure in the way the spy’s Adam’s apple bobs. “You know I hate your lies, tell me the truth.”

He can see over the tops of the sunglasses, watches Deacon’s eyes dart back and forth before meeting his gaze. Sees how his pupils have expanded, partially covering up his denim blue irises. “Wasn’t lying, I really do have a gun-”

In a flash, Danse brings his hand over to the pale column of Deacon’s throat, doesn’t squeeze, just rests his fingers where they had been. The reaction is immediate: Deacon’s eyes slam shut, his breath stutters out, and he closes his mouth. Danse uses his thumb to tilt the other man’s head to the side, leans in until his lips brush up against Deacon’s ear, until his hip presses up against the line of Deacon’s cock, still hard in his jeans. “The truth, Deacon.”

A full body shudder racks through the Railroad agent before his body goes tense beneath Danse. Deacon stays quiet, so he waits a little longer, pulling back to watch, but the spy remains silent. Boldness creeps up from somewhere deep inside the ex-Paladin, has him rolling words around in his head that are vulgar and violent. He says them, even as the fear of rejection threatens to drag him down. “So this is all it takes to shut you up, figured you’d be a talker even in the bedroom. I imagined the only way to keep you quiet would be to shove cock in your lying mouth.”

At his half confession/half degradation Deacon whimpers, and Danse feels his skin heat up. The anger is still there, but it’s tempered a bit, slowly being overshadowed by Danse’s own arousal. Still, he wants an answer, so he places some pressure on Deacon’s throat, teasing him with the possibility of pain, of danger. “You can speak, but if you lie to me, there will be consequences. Understand?”

“Yes.” It’s little more than a whisper, hardly loud enough to hear.

“Yes?” Danse repeats.

It must come out demanding or angry because Deacon shudders again then spits out, “yes, Sir.” The implications of that has Danse’s mouth going dry, and what started as something mostly to work out anger, enough to turn him on, but not really enough to get him aroused, has his hips stuttering against Deacon as he hardens in his pants.

“Sir? So it’s not just choking then. You want me to boss you around?” Deacon nods. “You want me to rough you up a bit, a little pain with your pleasure?” Another nod. “Want me to use you, punish you for failing to follow orders? For lying?” One final nod and Danse pulls back, releasing Deacon. “On your knees then.”

There’s no hesitation as Deacon drops to the ground, and the sight of the spy kneeling in front of him has Danse licking his lips. “Are you so pathetic you need more instruction?” From this angle Danse can see Deacon’s eyes flutter shut as he shakes his head ‘no’. “Answer me.”

“No, Sir.”

Danse crosses his arms. “Then get on with it.”

Deacon springs into action, hands going straight for his zipper, sliding it down with ease. It’s common for Brotherhood Soldiers to forego underwear in their uniforms, and that standard has followed Danse even though he no longer wears his, as such the action has his cock springing free. Danse expects to have to give another order but is pleasantly surprised when Deacon doesn’t pause. Has to hold back a groan when deft fingers wrap around him, clench his jaw when Deacon leans forward and darts his tongue out then drags his lips down the side of his shaft, bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from moaning when Deacon takes half of him into his mouth without warning.

It’s been… longer than Danse wants to admit, and the sight of the spy bobbing up and down and the sensation from being touched has him stuttering his hips forward, chasing the wet heat of Deacon’s mouth. There’s no complaint from his companion though, and he finds himself emboldened. He reaches down, fits his fingers against the back of Deacon’s head and forces him down, down, down, until his cock hits the back of Deacon’s throat and the man’s nose is tucked against his lower stomach. From there it’s a steady rhythm of face-fucking that leaves Danse feeling weak. To distract himself he talks, gives Deacon what he wants.

“Not half bad, figured you’d be good with your mouth. Sometimes I thought you were spouting off on purpose. Almost like you were daring someone to shut you up. Put you in your place.” At that Deacon moans, and the vibrations from that has Danse thrusting forward, hard enough that Deacon chokes. The spy pulls back, but Danse doesn’t let him go far, forces his mouth back down, keeps him in place as he fucks into him. “Didn’t say you could stop, keep going.”

Deacon groans, sending sparks up Danse’s spine and the ex-Paladin finds himself annoyed that when he looks down he can’t see the spy’s face because of Deacon’s sunglasses. So he reaches down, tugs them off, sends them skittering across the room. Immediately Deacon opens up his eyes. Danse can see tears pooling in the corners, hates that he likes it, hates that it has him stuttering into Deacon’s mouth again. But he also fucking loves it.

“You look good like this, you know?” Shock crosses over the blue of Deacon’s eyes, temporarily blotting out the lust that was reflected earlier. “On your knees, taking orders, sucking dick like you were meant for it.” At the praise Deacon’s eyes close and his pace picks up, the enthusiasm is too much and Danse can feel the tightness in his stomach that’s signaling the end.

Without warning he pulls Deacon back, pushing him away. The spy goes sprawling backwards, completely unbalanced, and lands hard on his backside and elbow. He’s still flushed, whole face red, sweat dampening his forehead, and he’s definitely still hard. Danse watches as the Railroad agent lifts a hand to palm himself through his jeans, hissing at the touch. Irritation cracks through him like a whip and Danse steps forward, leans down to fist Deacon’s shirt again. “Did I fucking say you could touch yourself?”

“No- I just- Danse  _ please- _ ”

Feigning nonchalance, Danse releases him and steps back, arms crossed, then frowns at Deacon as he tucks himself back into his pants. “What do you want?”

Deacon starts babbling, “anything please, fucking- your hands or mouth or even just- just let me touch myself.”

Danse cuts him off. “Deacon,” the spy stops talking, going completely silent, “what do you want?”

There’s no hesitation or stuttering this time. “I want you to fuck me.”

Danse takes a look around the room, sees a desk that looks sturdy enough. He nods his head at it and Deacon scrambles off the floor. With no prompting the spy tugs off his shirt, kicks off his shoes, and then leans down onto the metal surface, elbows bracing to keep himself upright. He’s shaking, and Danse finds himself thrilled.

Being intentionally noisy he walks across the room until he’s behind Deacon. With rough hands he pushes hard down on Deacon’s shoulder until he’s facedown on the desk, arms pushed out to the side. “Do you have anything?”

Deacon nods, face scraping against the metal. “S’in my bag, small pocket.” The words come out a little slurred, and Danse finds himself shocked by how well Deacon falls into his submissive role. Although, he muses as he searches the canvas bag, he figures it really shouldn’t. His careful searching is rewarded by a small bottle, no bigger than a spice jar, and he pops off the cap as he walks about. The sound is loud and Danse hears Deacon whimper. It sends a jolt through him, has him taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“You always carry lube around?” Danse asks as he places the bottle on the desk by Deacon’s head. The spy grunts a yes. “Are you just always gagging for it then? Hoping someone will take pity on you and fuck you like the whore you are?”

“Fuck- Danse please-” quick as lightning Danse smacks his hand across Deacon’s ass, cutting off the whimpered out plea.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Another smack and Deacon moans, hips stuttering against the desk, searching for friction. It’s probably the hottest thing Danse’s ever seen. “Answer the question Deacon.”

The spy shudders as Danse grabs the belt loops of his jeans and tugs him backwards, actually lets out a whimper when he feels how hard Danse is. “Yes.”

The ex-paladin thrusts forward, using one arm to pin Deacon back to the desk. “Yes what?”

Deacon shudders, presses back against Danse’s hips and suddenly Danse would really like to get Deacon’s jeans off. He pulls back just far enough to start pulling the material down, exposing pale skin, dotted with a few freckles. “I’m always- fuck, shit I’m always gagging for it.” He trails off as Danse gets his pants the whole way off, catching them on his feet, picks back up when Danse stops moving. “Especially when I’m around you, fuck Danse have you looked in a mirror?”

Danse bites at the curve of Deacon’s ass as he stands, leaving the jeans wrapped around the spy’s ankles, keeping him from moving as best as he can in the circumstances. “I said no lying.”

Deacon sucks in a breath as Danse’s hands come to rest on his bare skin, calloused fingers pressing hard into his hips. “Not lying- I swear- you’ll work on your power armor, fucking sweaty and shirtless- shit-” Danse grins at the spy’s stumbling, knows it’s becasue of the thumb he now has circling his hole, lightly pressing, enough to tease but not enough to satisfy.

“Enough talking, Deacon, or I’ll stop. Leave you right here on this desk, desperate and hard and wanting. I’ll take care of myself and won’t spare you another look for the rest of the trip.” That earns him a full-body shudder as the spy takes in his threat, and, surprisingly enough, Deacon goes quiet. “Good boy.” His praise is met with a bitten off whimper. Interesting.

The anger from earlier has dissipated, enough for Danse to know that he doesn’t actually want to hurt Deacon, at least not anymore than the man is asking him to. Knowing this, he reaches up to grab the lubricant again, drizzles the cool liquid onto his fingers, and lets some of it drop down onto Deacon’s skin. The spy jerks against the cold, but says nothing, remains quiet just like he was told to. Without warning he trails his hand not covered in lube over Deacon’s ass again, kneading the soft flesh under his palm, then digs his fingers into the curve of his hip, giving Deacon the bite of pain he knows they’re both craving.

From on top of the desk Deacon is panting, eyes closed, mouth open, and his arms are shaking. Danse knows he wants to touch himself, but that he won’t move. The power he has over the situation is exhilarating and it has him rushing forward to the next step. Being gentle with his hand, he presses into Deacon with one finger, lightly dipping into him. His efforts are rewarding with a throaty moan and he shudders, leaning forward to press his clothed dick against Deacon’s leg, letting himself get a little friction as he slowly pumps his finger in and out.

Before too long Deacon’s hips are pushing back, seeking more than Danse is offering. He hasn’t outright begged, following the rule set in place, and that grants him mercy from the ex-Paladin. He adds another finger at the same time that he leans over, covering Deacon’s body in his own so that he can bite at the curve of the smaller man’s neck. Pain and pleasure, mixed perfectly.

Danse continues the pattern for a little longer, until he’s got three fingers scissoring in out of Deacon, lube dripping from his fingers to slowly slide down Deacon’s bare legs. By now they’re both reeling with pleasure, Deacon letting out breathy moans and whimpers, Danse trying hard not to come in his own pants from the sight that the spy is painting underneath him.

Finally, Deacon breaks. “Please-”

Danse shudders at the brokenness of his voice, filled with desperation and pleasure. He doesn’t stop his teasing, but he is listening. “I told you to stop talking.” Danse is amazed at how level his voice comes out, considering how close to the edge his is, how desperate he is to find his release. Deacon shudders, his hole fluttering around the fingers that are still stretching him.

Deacon's mouth opens again, like he might talk, but then his eyes open instead, and Danse can see tears in them, can see how desperate Deacon really is. Knows the other man is just as close as he is, and Danse hasn’t even gotten out of his pants yet. Instead of speaking, Deacon bucks back onto his fingers, taking them as deep as he can while still pressed onto the desk by Danse’s arm.

And that’s pretty much all he can take.

Quickly Danse removes his fingers, wipes the excess lube from his hand onto his pants, and ignores the stain that it leaves in favor of grabbing the bottle of liquid again. Shaking, he undoes his jeans, pushing them down just enough to pull himself free. At the sight of his cock Deacon groans, drops his head back onto the table from where he had lifted it to look, and nods his head up and down. For a second, Danse thinks he can hear a small chanting of “yes yes yes”, but then he’s rubbing the lube over himself and lining up with Deacon.

Then he stops.

He can’t explain why, but for some reason things have changed. This started out as something violent, a means to work through pent up aggression and mutual attraction, and now- now he’s taken the time to make sure that he’s not actually going to hurt the other man underneath him, and it doesn’t feel right. Danse doesn’t do this, he doesn’t casually sleep around with people. He doesn’t think he can-

“What happened to putting me in my place?” Deacon’s voice cuts through the self-doubt and Danse jerks up to look at him. “Finally get there and now you can’t do it. Should have known you were all bark and no bite.”

The Railroad agents pushes himself up onto his elbows, face judging and unhappy. “Gotta admit tincan, you were off to a good start, but looks like I’ll be the one taking care of myself.”

It’s the nickname that does it. The other words and littling tone build him back up, sparking the anger that he’s felt since leaving Sanctuary, but it’s the nickname that has the embers catching, pulling him back into the headspace that had him shoving Deacon against the wall in the first place. He knows that’s the spy’s plan, knows his egging him on intentionally. But it doesn’t matter. Because in a flash he’s gripping Deacon by the back of the neck, slamming him face down once more into the metal desk, and pressing himself inside, losing himself in the tight heat.

They both moan at the sensation, but Danse doesn’t pause to give Deacon time to adjust to his size. Instead he pulls back, relishing the drag against his cock and then jerks forward fast and sharp. He sets a brutal pace, hips pulling and pushing, only aware enough to notice that Deacon is meeting him thrust for thrust. Deacon makes to pull his arm off the desk, clearly moving to touch himself, but Danse grabs his hand and slams it back onto the table. “Don’t fucking move.” His voice comes out like a growl, and the order elicits another choked off moan from the spy.

But, with their position, his hand at the back of Deacon’s neck instead of nestled against his throat, means he can still talk. And talk he does.

“Gonna have to try harder than that.”

“You gonna actually make me feel you, or is this all you’ve got.”

“Come on Danse, I don’t think-”

“Enough!” Danse pulls back just enough to get a hand under Deacon’s hips, and then he’s flipping the man. He tears Deacon’s pants off his ankles, then roughly he pushes forward, pinning the spy between the wall and his own chest. Deacon’s eyes are gleaming with amusement, but behind that there’s the obvious tinge of attraction and arousal. Before Deacon can open his mouth to say anything, Danse fits his hand around his throat, palm pressing dangerously onto the spy’s Adam’s apple and then he’s pushing back inside, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The new position changes the angle, and suddenly Deacon is whimpering louder, voice broken underneath Danse’s squeezing. His hands scramble up to tug at Danse’s chest, nails biting into the ex-Paladin’s shirt, hard enough to puncture the skin underneath. The sight of Deacon falling apart beneath him is pushing him closer to the edge, and Danse knows he’s not going to last. So with quick, rough jerks, this side of too painful, he takes Deacon’s cock in his hand and strokes him in time with his thrusts.

It’s over pretty quickly after that, Deacon throwing his head back against the wall and coming all over himself is a sight that even Danse, with all his self control, can’t handle. And with one, two, three more pumps he pulls out, spilling all over Deacon’s already messy stomach. His ears are ringing as the aftershocks run through his body, and he has no idea how much time passes before he’s aware of outside sensations.

It’s then that he realizes Deacon’s hands are pushing at his chest and his wrist because he still has a grip around the other man’s throat. He lets go with a curse, stepping back just enough to give them both some breathing room. As soon as he’s released Deacon sags into the desk, like all the energy has drained out of him, but his breath comes out broken, harsh. It has Danse’s gaze darting to the dark imprint of his fingers against Deacon’s skin, and he’s filled with equal parts horror and gratification.

He’s frozen between wanting to help, and fearing that Deacon will hate him for his actions. That he’ll be scared of him now that he can see what kind of damage Danse is capable of.

“Are you okay?” It comes out timid, awkward considering that Deacon is fully naked, covered in lube and both of their come, and even though Danse still nearly fully clothed, his softening cock is still hanging out of his pants.

Deacon nods, his hand rubbing at his neck, “okay? I think that was the best fuck of my life.” His eyes twinkle with mischief and, for some reason, it has Danse feeling relaxed instead of irritated. “And that’s saying something, because I’ve tried that mutfruit trick Maccready is always asking about.”

Danse’s mouth twitches up into a smile and Deacon beams at him. It feels a little weird, seeing the spy without his signature glasses, but it has something inside of Danse’s chest fluttering. “Glad to be of service.” The Railroad agent continues to ramble as Danse locates a cloth for him to clean up with, but Danse doesn’t feel anger, in fact he actually finds amusement.

He’s facing Deacon’s back, both of them once more fully clothed, and something inside of him, that he can’t explain or name, has him reaching forward. There’s confusion when Danse gently spins Deacon to face him, but then he’s cutting the spy off mid-sentence as he presses their lips together.

For a brief moment Deacon doesn’t respond, just long enough for Danse to feel ridiculous. They had sex- they fucked- they didn’t kiss the entire time because that’s not what this was. It was Deacon getting off, and Danse working out his anger and frustration and nothing more- but then Deacon is humming into his mouth, teasing out with his tongue and kissing Danse back in full force.

There’s no aggression from either of them this time, just a gentle press of lips and tongue, and the occasional hint of pressure from teeth. It’s soft, the kind of thing Danse normally goes for, the kind of touch he thought he lost the day the Brotherhood exposed who he really was. It has him smiling into the kiss.

“You know, it’s easier to make out with someone when they’re not grinning like a loon.” Deacon mutters.

Danse huffs out a laugh at that, leans down to kiss Deacon once more before pulling back. “Well who’s fault is it that?”

There’s humor crinkling at the corner of Deacon eyes when he smiles back. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

Danse ignores the lie in favor of kissing Deacon again.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated. If you liked this there's a bunch of other fics on my page. You an also swing by my [Tumblr](https://randomwordsandstormydays.tumblr.com) and say hi, I love talking about my fics.


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